Mess Is Mine
by kingsnow
Summary: Jon Snow marries his underage bride mainly to cuddle her. She is thirsty. He is also thirsty but has more self control. Basically: Jon and Sansa would be quite young after the war for the dawn, here's a fluffy fic about horny teenagers.
1. Chapter 1

She's all too young, Jon thinks, as he looks at his new bride lying on their bed. Still, she is stripped to her shift and he is unsure of what to do. He had insisted that there be no bedding, and his people had obeyed their king. But drunk on the finest Arbor Gold, Sansa had started removing her clothing herself when he'd ducked into the kitchens to fetch some spare lemoncakes.

"Sansa," he says, biding his time as he curses himself for letting his eyes linger a little too long at her breasts, barely concealed by the thin linen.

"Jon," she says back, and he curses her for fluttering her eyelashes because this was supposed to be much easier. She's not yet fifteen, and she shouldn't be in anybody's bed, even if she had been when she was much younger.

"We're not going to… do anything," Jon says tentatively, looking down at the plate overflowing with lemoncakes for the new Queen he carried in his hands. "Nothing you're not ready for."

"Oh," Sansa says, her voice flat. She brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "Are those for me?"

Jon nods and closes the distance between them to put the plate of lemon cakes beside her. She doesn't touch them, and when he finally looks up at her she's meeting his eyes.

"It is expected of us – that we should consummate the marriage," Sansa says, and it would be easy, it would. She's so beautiful like this, with her hair pulled out of braids and falling in soft waves down her back. All undone, lips flushed pink from the cold of his bedroom.

"Expected by who?" Jon asks. "I'm the King. You are the Queen. We answer to no one."

Sansa pushes her eyebrows together, as if trying to add it all up. "Well, this is why you married me, isn't it?"

There's something in her voice that's a little bit hopeful, and he can't help but indulge her, it's their wedding day, and so he takes the bait.

"No."

He thought it was the right answer, he really did. But Sansa's face falls anyway.

Jon sits down on the bed next to her. He's not very good at these sort of little chats, but he'll try anyway. "I'm sorry," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"It's alright," she says, and she would have stopped there, he knows, if it wasn't for the wine. "I just thought maybe you were marrying me for –"

Finally she catches herself and looks down.

"For what?" he prompts, but she does not answer. Instead she grabs lemon cake from the plate and stuffs the entire thing into her mouth. Jon waits patiently as Sansa chews.

Finally she swallows it down and sighs. "Well, I suppose I'll be going back to my room."

"No," he says, and he stands up and pushes the furs from the foot of the bed onto her body, enveloping her in warmth, trapping her under their weight. "You should stay."

Sansa smiles up at him, "are you afraid of me, Jon Snow?"

Yes.

"I killed the Night's King."

"Do I repulse you, then? Because you still see me as your sister?"

Jon can't help but laugh, because it's quite the opposite really, and she must know it, what with the half dozen of kisses they'd exchanged over the past year. Some of them when he did indeed think she was his sister, as she'd thought he was her brother. He pulls off his boots and leaves them at the foot of the bed.

Sansa grabs another lemon cake, but eats it more daintily this time. She's a pretty picture, even when she's annoyed with him. He gets under the covers with her, removing only his doublet.

In the candlelight, she is so very soft. His bannermen wouldn't believe him if he told them how very sweet she was, they were terrified of her. It had been their own fault, really, for not respecting her from the start. He had always been in awe. And she may have kept The North alive while he'd been beyond The Wall, but underneath she was still just a young girl.

"You know why I married you," he says to her, matter-o-factly.

"I thought I did," she sighs. Now that he's closer, their faces only a few inches apart, he sees she really is hurt.

"I love you," he says, and reaches out to put a hand on her cheek.

He expects her to smile. He wouldn't have said it if he didn't think she loved him back. No, he knows she does. She had been the one who proposed the marriage a few days ago, after all, with the flimsiest of excuses. She had been the one to set the date, taking the entire castle by surprise. And besides, she had been the one to kiss him first, almost a year ago now.

Instead she sighs once again. "You love me and yet you won't touch me?"

"I am touching you," he says, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. He leans over and brushes his lips against hers. She catches his lip between her teeth and bites down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough for her to show him how sharp her fangs are.

It sends a shiver down his spine, and he plays right into her hand, gripping her head tighter and freeing his lip from her hold to nibble on her lip. He is more gentle than she was, but he wins the game anyway. Her body goes slack against his and his arms envelope her, bringing her to his chest.

"You're wearing a lot of clothes," Sansa says, when they pull away. "For someone who isn't afraid of me."

"You're too young to carry a child," he says, his voice suddenly sober. He'd discussed it with the maester before the wedding. They were getting a little carried away, and this was why he was wearing so many layers. His own mother had died in the birthing bed, and the pair of them had lost too much already. He wouldn't lose her too.

Sansa sighs, "I've been married before, you know."

"I know."

"Twice!"

"Three times now, actually," he corrects her.

"You know I'm not a maid. And I'll be fifteen soon."

"Soon," he agreed. Not soon enough.

"And we'll do it then?" she asks, and his breeches tighten at the eagerness in her voice. Her hand clutches his bicep, and she squeezes tight. And then her face breaks out into a smile, "as a nameday present?"

Jon just laughs, because he's not sure, he's just slightly too hot and bothered to remember exactly what the maester said. What's wrong with taking it slow, anyway? They had all the time in the world. The rest of their lives. He liked to just kiss her. And there were other things he could show her…

"Do you really love me?" she asks.

"I do."

"I love you too," she offers, and pulls away from him to reach onto the table beside their bed for another lemoncake. "Would you take off your shirt, at least?"

"What?"

"You can leave your breeches on. And your socks, even. Just take off your shirt."

Jon does as his lady commands. He sits up and pulls the loose white shirt over head head and tosses it to the ground.

The way she looks at him is unfair. The way her hands immediately run against his stomach is unfair too. But he doesn't mind. He feels desire grow in his belly and wills himself to ignore it. He lays back down and she cuddles closer to him again.

Sansa nuzzles her face into his neck, and he reaches an arm under her to pull her closer.

"I am really quite tired," she says. "From the dancing. And the wine's gone to my head. So maybe you're right, maybe it is for the best."

Sansa's voice is very soft, and he knows she's not mad anymore. He looks over and her eyes have drifted closed, though her fingers still brushed against his abdomen so she hadn't fallen asleep. He doesn't mind. This is good. This is enough.

 **Author's Note:** you can check out more of my fic at theonbaejoys on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa was tired of Jon's excuses. He was a truly despicable husband. She had endured five months of marriage, and had fallen asleep nestled in the crook of his arm most nights, and yet he held true to this inexplicable vow.

"Do you miss the Wall?" she grumbles one night after things had gotten a little too hot and heavy.

He does not answer. He has the nerve to bop her on the nose with his finger. Then he rolls over and falls instantly asleep. She loathes him.

Things get much worse a fortnight before her fifteenth nameday. He is kissing her, just kissing her, his fingers laced through her hair. Her legs wrap around his thighs instinctually, and when he'd rolls on top of her the hard muscles of his thighs push against her. Something about it concentrates her attention wonderfully. It lasts just a moment before he shifts and it's gone once more.

She tightens her thighs around him again, and he shifts so more of his weight wis on her. His body seemed to want to give in to her even if her husband preferred to take long walks outside instead of finishing what they'd started.

As he presses her into the mattress he nibbled on her ear with his teeth. It didn't tickle like it normally did. It keeps going, just like that. She does most of the work, rubbing up against him. He buries his head in her hair and she can feel every one of his steady breaths against her neck. Pressure builds in her belly as she arches her back.

The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing, until the feeling comes apart and she exhales, "Jon."

Jon doesn't talk about it afterwards. Instead, he immediately excuses himself. As she lays there alone she wonders where exactly he'd gone until the realization hits her and a rush of excitement runs through her. Sansa had always thought a man taking himself in hand was gross, but now the image of Jon like that – because of her – flashes through her mind and her mouth goes dry.

Sometimes she would feel him pressed hard against her, but in those moments she'd been utterly distracted, consumed by kissing him. He was so very good at kissing. But she wondered if he'd let her slip her hands between them and feel it. Or…

When he comes back to bed she leans over and wraps her arms around him.

"You needn't have run off," she whispers into his ear.

"You'd be surprised what I needed."

She smiles and runs her fingers against his muscled stomach. That was her favourite part of him. She even liked his scars.

"I only mean, I would watch, if you let me."

Jon groans. "I don't think I could control myself with you watching, My Lady," he says, and Sansa thinks she may like that answer better than getting her way.

* * *

She is desperate to do it again, to feel the way the world could go quiet for a blissful moment. She is a wicked wife, she knows, for she finds she loves tempting him. Jon is merely trying to be an honourable man, a loving husband. Still, she pushes.

They do it again and again, and as she pushes herself into him she imagines his eyes hungry. She runs her hands up his shirt and leaves scratches on his back she can see the next day as he dresses for breakfast. He gives in, moving back against her. As the friction becomes nearly unbearable, she imagines him breaking down and ravishing her, taking her and not being gentle about it. Claiming her as his true wife and filling her with his hot seed.

He never does. And though she loves him all the more for it, it does nothing to stop her from wanting.

* * *

She finds she utterly hates him when just a week before her fifteenth nameday, he calls her into the library to meet with Sam. It would be utterly embarrassing with their old maester, but somehow this is worse.

"It's not ideal for a woman to fall pregnant before her sixteenth year," Sam tells her.

Jon looks away as he has his friends deliver the news. Coward, she thinks.

And though she loathes him, she still wants him desperately and loves him wholeheartedly. She is flummoxed.

"I won't get pregnant. I swear it!" she cries, and to her mortification her voice comes out much more childlike than she'd intended. She sounds like a little girl. Jon looks at her and she glares it him. He looks away sheepishly.

"You can't really control that," Sam says, as gently as he can.

"I've heard that if you do it the day after your moonblood you can't get pregnant," Sansa says, lifting her chin.

"An old wives tale," Sam said. "You can get pregnant at any time of your cycle. Even while you're bleeding."

Sansa sighs.

"Can I discuss this with my husband alone?" she asks Sam. Sam nods and leaves them to it.

She stares at him, waiting for him to explain himself. He pulls on the collar of his shirt. She sighs dramatically when she realizes he will not speak first.

"Do you truly mean to be this cruel?"

"Sansa."

"Yes, I know you have your reasons." She crosses her arms. "And I accepted them, but you're making this too difficult –"

"You have not accepted them, you make things difficult."

"I make things difficult? You just had your best friend tell me I won't be your true wife for another year."

Jon sighs. "Fine. Not a year. Six months."

Sansa's heart lifts. "Really?"

He smiles and she swears she loves him so much she may forgive him yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa Stark did not fight fair. She had no honour. Jon burned with contempt when he didn't burn with desire.

She'd leaned over to kiss him good morning, and one thing led to another, as they always did because she had no self control, and pretty soon she was sucking on his fingers and looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes. He'd sighed, and ran his spare hand through his hair.

"What are you doing?"

Sansa licked the length of his finger as though she'd been trained in the art of seduction in some pleasure house all the while feigning innocence, "what do you mean?"

He hadn't been manipulated so easily by an adorable pout since Ghost was a puppy. He didn't even have the heart to pull his hand away, instead it remained wet against her lips.

"You know," he said firmly.

"Just kissing."

He sighed and let her continue. It wasn't hurting anybody, was it? It was all perfectly innocent, really. Perhaps she didn't intend for him to imagine her sucking on something else, perhaps he was the perverted one. He was the baseborn one, after all. It's not like she'd know anything about that sort of thing, and he doubted his wife was wanton enough to come up with anything like that on her own.

But in the end, he'd been willfully naive. He'd been so captivated by the sight of her that he'd succumbed to his baser instincts.

After they'd dressed for the day, he'd excused himself to his solar with his blood still hot and his cock still painfully hard. He'd unlaced his breaches and taken himself in hand, closing his eyes in relief. She always got him so worked up, rubbing herself against his thigh, moaning his name into his ear, somehow rendering 'Jon' hopelessly erotic (though he suspected she could recite his chores for the next day when they were getting hot and heavy and he'd still think about it when pleasuring himself), and so it never took long.

Now he thought of her soft lips and wet tongue, and how much better suited they would be for this than his calloused hand.

When he opened his eyes, she was standing against the shut door. He cursed himself for buying into her doe-eyed routine yet again.

Sansa had the smallest of smiles on her face, and though she was treacherous he couldn't claim he didn't like it. That was the problem. He liked her schemes a little too much, so much that he forgot the oath he'd sworn to protect her.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, Your Grace," Sansa said, the lie so natural on her lips he almost believed her.

Jon re-laced his breaches. Months before he hadn't been able to meet her gaze when she licked her lips. He'd been tempted by the way she licked her lips when she ran a finger across his abdomen or clutched at his biceps. But he was better at pushing the boundaries now, so he rolled his eyes.

"How can I help you, My Lady?"

"The Manderlys are here, and they would like an audience with their King."

"It's you they're here to see."

Sansa shrugged. "It may be my nameday, but Lord Manderly is really here to report to you on his search and rescue mission for Rickon." She paused, "he seems in good spirits…"

Jon wanted his brother returned to him as much as anyone, he would be first to proclaim the seven year old his rightful king. But he did not want to talk about the brother he shared with his wife with a hand full of his own seed.

"Tell them I'll be down in a few minutes."

Sansa nodded, and left him to clean himself up.

* * *

Sansa received many gifts for her fifteenth nameday. He had given her four yards of the finest silk gold could buy, imported from Ashaii with help from Lord Manderly. He'd hoped a new sewing project would keep her mind occupied and out of the gutter. Maester Sam had given her a copy the first volume of the history of their house. But it was the Manderly's gift that stole the show. Rickon Stark himself, dressed in Stark colours, presented just before the feast.

Jon had fallen to his knees and opened held out his arms for him. He scooped Rickon into his arms and held him tight, wary of ever letting the littlest Stark out of his sight again. When he turned to look at Sansa, still sitting at the dais, there were tears running down her face.

Jon was just happy Rickon was alive, but he'd proved useful in other ways too. Jon had encouraged Ghost to sleep by their bed. At first it had been a useful deterrent, because no proper lady wanted a dog to watch her in the throes of passion. And Ghost had looked concerned when she began to make certain noises, eyeing Jon up to make sure he wasn't hurting her. But Ghost had become acclimatized to Sansa's low moans, and with each passing week, less and less could put Sansa off.

But Rickon had grown used to sleeping with Osha, huddling together for warmth, and it only seemed natural to let Rickon into their bed. He was barely seven and he had nightmares about cannibals and wights. With Rickon in their bed, and Shaggydog and Ghost sleeping by the fire, he didn't have to worry about the way Sansa's hands would graze the hair on his stomach, and how he'd want them to wander further down.

* * *

After a few weeks, the young Lord decided he was ready for his own bed. Jon had no choice but to accept that he would be alone with Sansa once again. It had only become harder to control himself, but when she'd come to his solar to sit in his lap at least there had been a half dozen layers of fabric between them. The first night they are alone again, Sansa appeared in flimsy silk small clothes.

"What are you wearing?" he spat out, feeling himself grow hard at the way the blue silk clung to her breasts. It was cut low and trimmed with lace, and it left most of her thighs bare. When she climbed atop him and leaned down to kiss him he could see almost everything.

"A nightgown," she said, her voice breezy. She leaned down to kiss his jaw again. "I thought you'd like to see me wearing your gift." Her teeth grazed his unshaven jaw as she brought her lips to his ear. "Don't you like it?" she whispered.

The silk had cost a small fortune, and though she was horrible at sums she knew it. She'd been so grateful for it, seeing her smile and hold it up to his cheek had filled his heart with love.

"I assumed you'd make a pretty dress or something," he managed.

Sansa pulled back from his neck to look into his eyes. "You don't think it's pretty?" Her tone was mocking, she knew she'd one upped him this time.

Jon swallowed. "Something people would see you in."

"You're the only one I want to impress."

Her eyes were sparkling, and she sat back up, shifting her weight and making him groan as she wiggled. She must feel how hard he is, she got a perverse thrill out of getting him like this.

He wondered if she'd imagined this while sewing her little nightgown. Jon ran a hand up her thigh, under the silk dress. There is nothing underneath, just her cunt, already wet as she rocks her hips against him. Jon wondered if she'd gotten wet just sewing this dress, imagining trying it on for him. Imagining him giving in. Had she taken it into her own hands? He wondered just how frustrated she got. He'd neglected his husbandly duties this past fortnight.

He was sick of taking walks in the snow hoping to cool down when he had a willing girl waiting in his bed. He rubbed his thumb against her clit. Perhaps he was not so honourable after all. He pushed two fingers inside her for the first time and she sighed. She was easy, slick and desperate, and so it was easy to keep going, to fuck her in earnest with his hands. She threw her head back and jerked her hips, her weight hitting him just right. He groaned and bucked his hips back into hers.

He could take her now. It would be so easy. She'd be happy. He'd finally get some release.

"Sansa?"

"Hmmm?"

"Take it off."

Her eyes went wide, and she nodded eagerly. She pulled the dress up off her head and let it fall to the floor. Completely naked, she didn't stop rubbing herself into his hand.

He saw her now, completely naked and straddling him, and really looked at her in for the first time. Before it had just been glimpses, no matter how inviting her little schemes had been he'd averted his eyes. Having her naked form stuck in his head would only make it harder to pull away when they'd gone too far. She had a few scars, leftovers from Joffreys beatings, but they were nothing, really, she was perfect. Her breasts were full and her nipples hard. As she chased release they bounced, it was as beautiful a sight as he'd ever seen. He reached his spare hand up to her breast. It was heavy in his hand. He pinched her nipple and she cried out, half pain and half pleasure.

"Serves you right," he whispered, unyielding. She seemed to like it though, for the thrusts of her hips did not let up.

"You don't deserve such a wicked wife," she agreed, and reached one of the hands she was using to balance herself on his chest up to her other breast and squeezed her other nipple.

That was too much for him. He pulled his hand away from her and grabbed her hips. He was just as bad as her. The look of desperation on her face and knowing how wet she was tempted him to let her sit there for awhile and deprive her of release. She needed more discipline. She never would have made it in the Night's Watch.

But he didn't possess the self restraint. Instead he moved her hips and brought her to his mouth, so he was covered in her. She braced the headboard so she didn't fall, and looked down at him in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but he began to suck on her and she closed her eyes instead. It was quite a sight — the face she made, the flat of her stomach, the heave of her chest. Her thighs tightened around his head.

He liked the way her orgasms tasted. He felt awful smug when she climbs off of him and lies beside him. He wrapped his arm around her waste and pulled her close, so they're nose to nose.

"How was that?"

Sansa shrugged her shoulders, and reached her hands between them and started to unlace his breeches. "Truthfully, it just made me want you more."

Gods help him, but she was impossible.


	4. Chapter 4

Rickon being home had always been a blessing, even when Jon had shoehorned her little brother between them to keep her hands from wandering. She knew it was not so very unreasonable. On winter nights people slept huddled together for warmth. When she was a child, Sansa had spent many a night curled up with Arya, who annoyed her most of the time. And the wildlings in Wintertown stepped huddled next to even more distant kin.

Jon had told her that men would take their women in plain sight of the rest of their clan, beneath their furs. He had been trying to scandalize her, no doubt. To prove how worldly he was, as though she'd been eating lemon cakes and having her hair brushed out by maids the entire time she'd been away. As though she was a blushing maid and not a woman grown, thrice wedded and once bedded.

But they were not wildlings. And though perhaps on occasion the image of him taking her in full sight of others flashed through her mind once he'd put the image there, she kept that thought to herself. It was only because he neglected her anyway. She assumed once he finally bedded her such unladylike fantasies would go away.

In the meantime, she found herself watching him about the castle, going about his duties, nearly drooling.

She'd always thought him a handsome man, and the more she grew to love him the comelier she found him. He'd become comelier still when he'd done that thing with his mouth.

* * *

The littlest things stirred her. The way he ruffled Rickon's hair in encouragement with his big, strong hands while helping him learn his letters had been strangely arousing. As was the way he looked at her so softly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. And the way he wore his white linen shirt when it was just the three of them in their private chambers after dinner. The top buttons undone so a little bit of chest hair peeked through. With his sleeves rolled up, she could see the muscles in his forearms flex.

That night, a month after Rickon had returned home, he'd dropped his quill to the desk and looked at the two of them very seriously. "When are you going to have a baby?" he asks.

Rickon had taken Sansa marrying their brother very well. Perhaps because he barely remembered them, or because he was just happy to have any family left at all. The thought of a baby that's half her and half Jon and all Stark always makes Sansa smile. When they'd wed, she'd assumed she'd have one in her arms by now. But that was before Sam's lessons on maternal health Jon had forced her to endure whenever she got any ideas.

"That's a good question," Sansa said. She looked over at Jon and raised her eyebrows.

Her husband looked at her as though she is a misbehaving child and he was contemplating how she was to be reprimanded. She must be very wicked indeed, since their little debates always made her heart race.

"Not for a long, long time," Jon said, and Sansa rolled her eyes. He was talking more to Rickon than to her. "You're the baby of the Castle for now."

Rickon narrowed his eyes, "I'm not a baby!" he growled, and then, softer, said "and I want a little brother."

They don't correct Rickon about how the baby would be his niece or nephew. Rickon missed Bran terribly, and Sansa was not about to tell him they couldn't rebuild his family. She smiled at Rickon, and Jon wrapped him in his arms and kissed him on the forehead.

* * *

She had accepted, at long last, that Jon was going to get his way. It made no sense that he should win. After all, before she'd thrown him out the moon doors Petyr Baelish had instructed her in the arts of seduction. Meanwhile, Jon had lived at the wall with a bunch of dirty, smelly boys. Jon had even told her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, which had made her blush, even though it was hardly a compliment given how few beautiful women Jon was like to have seen.

She made sure to take as much time as possible dressing, taking off all of her clothes before contemplating what to wear for the day. But Jon always averted his eyes.

She had used all of the silk Jon had given her for her nameday to make night clothes, each little dress smaller than the one before. Sure, his eyes would go dark, and he would touch her, coax her till she peaked, sometimes more than once, but though he would sometimes whisper terrible things into her ear, he always fell short of actually doing them.

* * *

On cold nights like this, Sansa preferred the warmth of her mother's old chambers. Especially when her husband was not here to keep her warm, as he hadn't been for the past fortnight. She missed him terribly, but he was busy seeing to the refortification of The Wall.

When he was gone she had no use for the silken nightclothes she'd made in her attempt to seduce him. She missed him, so she slept in his shirt instead. And alone in her bed, she touched herself. She really did miss him. His hands, his tongue, his smile. He snored lightly when he slept, and it annoyed her to no end, and she missed that too.

Sansa was not used to making herself come, she hadn't even known it was possible for girls before she'd married Jon. But in the weeks he'd been gone she'd she had gotten quite capable at it. It was not very ladylike, but there were many things she did with her husband that weren't. More still that she wanted to.

She was running her knuckles against her clit when Jon walked in, windswept from the road, right out of one of her fantasies.

"Sansa! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Jon said, just the sort of thing she imagined him saying as she closed her eyes and buried her fingers in her cunt.

Sansa sat up in bed, and leaned against the headboard. "I didn't know you were home, My Lord."

Jon's eyes lingered on her, but she wasn't sure why. She did not look particularly comely — her hair was a mess, for a start. "I rode all day hoping to find you in my bed," he said at last.

"The lord's chambers are too cold without your arms around me."

Jon smirked, an expression that always looked so out of place on his stoic face. "Is that my shirt?" he asked.

"I didn't think you'd need it at the wall," she said, looking down at it. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. It looks better on you."

When Sansa looked up, Jon's eyes had gone dark. She couldn't recall him ever looking at her like this. Not even in her itty bitty nightgown. Jon sat on the bed and pulled off his riding boots.

"Did you have a nice trip?" Sansa asked.

"I suppose," Jon said, but he's distracted, staring at her. He pulled the shirt open with a strong tug, and it burst at the seams, sending the buttons flying. Jon smiled, pleased with his work and kissed her newly exposed skin. "You're so soft," he whispered to her, his head between her breasts.

She couldn't help but grin. She may have become adept at pleasing herself in his absence, but nothing compared to feeling his weight atop her. "You seem to have really missed me."

"I did," he said, running his hand between her legs and finding her soaking wet. "I didn't think about anything but you," he breathes into her neck.

"I was thinking about your right now," she said mischievously.

They just kiss for awhile. She can feel him hard against her, but it's his mouth she focuses on. She could lay like this forever. The kingdom would suffer for it, but she would be deliriously happy. Just intertwined fingers and the gentleness of his fluttering eyelashes against her cheek.

But Jon pulled back and sat on his knees. "I don't think I can wait."

Sansa tried her best not to act surprised as Jon unlaced his breeches. She' d certainly imagined this moment often enough, but she still felt a nervous flutter in her belly. It was all a bit surreal but she was eager despite any nervousness.

It was not the first time she'd seen a naked man, but she still had to stifle a gasp when she saw all of him for the first time. If she thought his chest and his muscled stomach was unfair… well, the curve of his ass ought to be illegal. She was gaping at him, of this she was sure, but before she could conceal her lusty gaze, he was on top of her. His teeth ran down her stomach until his mouth began that horrible, wonderful thing he did with his mouth.

She wanted to take him in hand herself, to finally see him come undone, to have that power over him, but to do so would run the risk of making him stop. Better to give her blushing maid of a husband the illusion of control... he was like an easily frightened fawn...

... except he didn't seem so docile this time. Usually he begun gently, but his tongue was hard and fast, so she came quickly. She was pulling hard on his loose curls, but he still didn't stop. He only looked up when she'd come once more, this time so hard it almost hurt, crying out his name and pulling him by the hair to meet her lips.

She'd barely gotten a taste before he pulled away and began to nibble on her ear. Usually Jon would be urging her to go to sleep by now, or else taking a walk alone. But Jon stayed on top of her, his cock still hand against her leg, his lips sucking on her neck. He was sure to leave a mark, and she'd have to wear her hair down to cover it tomorrow lest the entire castle think her wanton.

When he finally does enter her, three months ahead of schedule, it feels right. She pushes her hips back into his. She can't believe she'd done without it for so long. She's never felt so connected to anyone, so whole. It doesn't last long before he shudders. She is pleased to note that he says her name this time. And she likes the way it sounds when his voice is so low and throaty, moaned into her ear. It's never sounded so pretty. She wants to hear it again. And she does, twice more that night.

 **Author's Note:** you can read more of my writing at theonbaejoys on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

It was only one time.

Well, he only spilled his seed inside of her one time. The other four times he gave in he made sure to pull out. He was half wolf that night, nipping at her neck as she clawed his back. He found he liked her best on all fours, but he'd had her in nearly every way he could think of. In the morning he hardly had that excuse. It wasn't the full moon that did it. They slept in and he was well rested, he was just weak. Her naked body looked so very pretty soaked in sunlight.

He should have told Sam to brew her some moontea, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable with the conversation. It would have been prudent, it would have stopped any seed from taking root. But there were side effects of that too, according to Sam, it wasn't a perfect solution. He would not poison his wife with tansy. He didn't want Sansa to drink anything that may endanger future pregnancies. And it had only been the one time.

Time marched on and his wife (for she truly was now, in all ways) accepted that it was a one — well, five — time only thing.

"Perhaps it would be best if you slept in your own bed for the next while," Jon said on a day she was looking particularly comely, every bit a Northern maid in a grey dress with a braid over her shoulder.

"Alright," Sansa sniffed.

It only lasted a few hours before he made his way to her chambers, not giving a damn what the castle thought of him knocking on his young bride's door past midnight. Surely they had seen the marks on her neck by now, for her furs and hair did not always manage to cover them up and everyone's eyes were always on Sansa.

"Can I help you, my lord?" she asked with a curtsy, the picture of courtesy. As though she didn't now that she's won this game and all the rest. The more he tried to stop the harder it became to keep himself from touching her.

He kissed her like he'd wanted to at dinner, like he'd been imagining as he took himself in hand and tried to go to sleep. It wasn't the same... and she was just down the hall. She softened in his arms and moved aside to let him in.

She wasn't good at this game either. Not really. She was just better at it than him.

They pay no attention to the late hour, nor do they concern themselves with how tired they will be at breakfast. They kissed and kissed and Jon told himself that's all they'll do, but then she took his hand in hers and brought it to her between her legs. He didn't give her what she really wanted, he managed to hold himself back from that, but did give her release.

It's was only a matter of time before he gave in again.

But before he had the chance to, Sam called him in to the library where Sansa was waiting. She looked down at her lap at her folded hands with a small smile on her face. It was the same face she made when Rickon did something especially adorable. He wondered what was going on until he sat down in his chair and looked over at Sam's somber face.

It had only been one time.

"I'm with child," Sansa said, a smug smile on her face.

Jon said nothing.

"I'd say two months along," Sam said. "She seems to be in good health."

Sansa put her hand on her belly and sighed happily. As if this was a good thing. As if it was worth the risk of her dying to bring this new life into the world. Childbirth was a dangerous business and he could not protect her from the birthing bed with a sword. She would be a mother only a few months after her sixteenth name day.

"We shall send for a midwife," Jon said finally. "And perhaps a more experienced maester to assist you." His wife and unborn child deserved the very best. People who had delivered dozens if not hundreds of babies. To give them the best shot.

Sam nodded. "I'll do that straight away. And she'll have Gilly to help her."

"She already has been. She's the one who told me what it was, when I was so sick in the mornings," said Sansa.

Gilly had two children, both delivered in much worse conditions than his own wife would ever have to. And Gilly was perfectly happy, and she was as young and healthy that first time as Sansa was now. Perhaps things would be like that for them too. He hoped he could be so lucky.

He already was pretty damn lucky. How many people in his position could say they'd married for love? A child was a blessing, one he never thought he'd have, but he knew the value of what he already had.

"Jon, you do know how chance works, don't you?"

Jon sighed. "Of course I do." Jon was better at sums than both Sansa and Sam.

"So you know that if the odds are one in ten that a woman would die in childbirth, the odds are in her favour she'll live?"

"Aye," Jon said gruffly, rolling his eyes.

There was no need to patronize him. Not for showing concern for his wife. Was that not his duty as her husband? Even if he had not married her, she was under his protection. He owed it to their father, to their house, and to their unborn child as well. For if Sansa were to die like so many other woman before her had, their heir would grow up without a mother's love just as he once had.

"And you know that the odds are much better for Sansa than they would seem. She's not going to give birth in a manger, is she? She'll have people who know what to do." Sam's voice was annoyingly patient, like it was Jon who was being irrational. Didn't Sam realize that the odds would be much better if Jon had held himself back that night? That he was only mad at himself?

Jon grumbled his agreements anyway, for Sam was factually right and he was being paranoid. More than that, it would not do to stress out his wife in her precarious position.

They broke the news to Rickon at bedtime, which had ended up being a colossal mistake. He had just calmed down for the night and then he was jumping on the bed and asking about names. Sansa made no efforts to get him to settle down. She did nothing but indulge him, the pair of them had giggled like co-conspirators.

In their bed afterwards, Sansa was still smiling. She must have gotten used to having such a brooding husband and his badly disguised worry no longer phased her, or perhaps she was just that pleased with the news. She was acting as though this was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

She took his hand in hers. He was about to tell her to stop — that it was more dangerous than ever now that she's carrying his child, that he doesn't want to disturb the baby — but she brought his hand to her stomach instead.

There was no possible way he could feel the baby kick, but something stirred in him anyway. He smiled genuinely for the first time all day, and Sansa's face lit up. His wife really did put up with a lot. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

He really was going to get everything he wanted, wasn't he? He supposed he'd just have to get used to it.


End file.
